The Guilt of War
by littlev123
Summary: America has a terrible dream about the past, and Canada tries to cheer him up. No parings. Rated T for violence. Oneshot


Rain drenched the battlefield, splattering the soldiers' worn coats with fresh mud. The two sides faced each other, muskets aimed and ready for fire. The blue-clothed figures watched as their leader, a young man defiantly standing in front, spoke with the enemy. The opposing army had only one soldier left, who also happened to be the nation himself. A loud crash of lightning, temporarily lighting up their sodden faces, only increased the tension already crackling in the air.

"All I want is my freedom!" America shouted over the tumult of the storm, blinking away the raindrops striking his eyelids. "Why can't you understand that?"

Britain stood with his mouth slightly open with an expression of hurt and disbelief. "America…" he whispered. The rain drowned out the word, and the younger man continued.

"From now on, consider me independent!" his voice carried, confident and determined. America's face showed no guilt or hesitation. Britain seemed to freeze for a moment, the words shocking him to the core. But then a surge of desperate anger coursed through him.

He raised his weapon and charged at America, boots splashing water against his already soaked pants. "I won't allow it!"

America, surprised by this sudden outburst, quickly raised his musket defensively. The sharp blade gouged into the wood of his weapon, looking for a moment like his defense had succeeded. Panic sparked in America as he heard the firearm creak from the strain…and suddenly split into two pieces.

His breathing stopped, a sharp flash of pain blossomed in his stomach, and his eyes slowly looked down. Blood already soaked his shirt below the blade, dripping into the mud and mixing with the rain.

America suddenly felt exhaustion pulling at his limbs while pain still occupied his thoughts. He collapsed to the ground, simultaneously sliding off of Britain's bloodstained weapon. His army could only watch, shock evident on their faces.

His vision blurred, but he could still see the red of Britain's coat, bright against the dark storm clouds. The last thing he heard was Britain's voice, biting but with a twinge of regret. "You idiot…"

America gasped and sat up in bed, panting heavily. He clutched at his blankets, heart racing, and looked around the room. He began to recognize his bedroom and, placing his hand over his eyes, tried to calm his frightened body and mind.

"Man, what a dream." He murmured. Knowing that there was no possible way he could sleep now, he left his bed and grabbed his glasses. He opened the door to the dark hallway, but didn't bother to close it. He walked down the hall until he reached the bathroom, flicked on the light switch, and turned on the faucet. He let the cold water run for a moment before removing his glasses and splashing it against his sweat drenched face. Although it did little to appease his mind, the water felt good against his skin. He turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel from under the sink to dry his face.

America left the towel on the sink and looked up at the mirror. His reflection looked slightly blurred due to his weak vision, but he could see how tired he looked. He reached over for his glasses and, putting them on, turned off the light and returned to the hallway. He headed back to his bedroom, trying to ignore the memories threatening to come before his vision.

"America?" A quiet voice spoke. He jumped and turned around, only to discover Canada, his brother. Canada's hair was bedraggled from sleep, and he held a glass of water in his hand instead of his pet polar bear. The bear must still be in the guest bedroom, asleep.

His clouded thoughts had made him forget that Canada was currently visiting America's country and staying at his house. Of course, he barely noticed Canada anyway.

Normally, Canada felt a little resentment towards him, since America was a little self-centered and people often beat him up, thinking he was America. Canada had heard America's shout from down the hall, and left his bed to investigate. He noticed him enter the bathroom with a look of emotionally drained exhaustion, then America jumped; that was completely uncharacteristic for the prideful, self-proclaimed hero. Now, with worry etched into his face, he felt concern for his brother.

"Are you alright?" Canada asked.

"Of course!" America responded, faking a laugh in an attempt to seem cheery. But even to his own ears it sounded hollow.

"I heard you scream." Canada stated, clearly not convinced.

America inwardly cursed himself and sighed. "It was just a dream. Nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure? What was it about?" he questioned. He could tell something was wrong; if America was truly fine, then he would have easily brushed off Canada and left. But now it seemed like he wasn't even trying.

"The Revolutionary War." Canada simply waited, prompting him to continue. "It was the last battle between me and Britain. I told him that I was independent, and he said he wouldn't let it happen. And then he kil—" America stopped, realizing he had said more than he intended. For some reason, it had just started spilling out, like he innately wanted to tell someone of his troubles

Canada looked at him sympathetically. "War is a terrible thing. Especially when it's against someone who's like a father to you."

Whenever he thought of Britain's face in the dream, looking hurt and sad, guilt weighed heavily on his heart. "He looked so down. It almost feels like I betrayed him…" he admitted, looking down at his feet.

"No, you did what you thought was right. You shouldn't regret that." Canada said, shaking his head.

"Do you…really think so?" America asked, looking up at him.

"Of course! You're the hero, right?" Canada smiled. America smiled back at his brother, feeling his regret suddenly obliterate. Canada was right; he did what he had believed was right, and should be proud of it.

"Right!" America agreed. He straightened his back and held himself confidently. Canada, although glad to have helped, felt almost unsettled by the new expression in his eyes. Was it…appreciation? Maybe even a glimmer respect? It seemed so strange to see it, after a lifetime of either not being noticed or getting beat up for something he didn't do. For the first time in a very long while, he felt at peace with his sibling.

Suddenly, America yawned, reminding them how late it was.

"Well, I guess we better get to bed." America turned around to leave, and then paused. Canada watched him, wondering why he had stopped.

"Hey, Canada?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks, bro." America left Canada in the hallway and returned to his bedroom, ready for bed. Canada waited for a moment, and then grinned before leaving as well, happy to see America restored to his prideful self.

America took off his glasses and laid them on the bedside table. He pulled the blankets over him and allowed himself to slip into content, untroubled sleep.

**A/N: This isn't my best work, but I decided to upload it anyway. I hope you enjoyed and please review!**


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